


Right Outside

by Yasuo_Karada



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Slut Shaming, sex with strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasuo_Karada/pseuds/Yasuo_Karada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll be waiting in the morning when you come into your senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Outside

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while.
> 
> I was listening to the titled song performed by Anthony Green and it gave me the image of Noiz watching as he and Aoba grew up and as Aoba went through relationship after relationship in unhealthy ways. As I actually began to write it, however, it changed a little.
> 
> It's not stated outright, but Aoba is suffering from depression and abandonment issues and, as someone also suffering, I wanted to show what it can sometimes be like to be close to someone with a mental illness. It's not fun, it's not romantic; it's scary and it's confusing and it's frustrating because there is no rhyme or reason for their insecurities (which, especially here since all we see is Noiz's side, isn't always made apparent), and they may want to end the relationship out of nowhere because they don't feel they deserve it, which can also lead to unhealthy habits.
> 
> I only wish my ex was as understanding as I made Noiz out to be here.

You're abandoned in front of the preschool, your father nudging you inside; it's an impatient nudging, you know. It always is. You secretly roll your eyes and stiffen your jaw as you walk through the front gate.

You're introduced to your new class a few days after moving to this new country. The first to catch your eye is a girl with long, oddly blue hair and big, bright eyes that seemed to reflect rainbows somewhere within the hazel. During the teacher's welcoming speech, you never waver your gaze from her, tuning the teacher out to take in as much data from her face as you can.

You're quiet and you can't help but stare at her right up until the bell for break rings; among the swarm of other preschoolers moving around to group up, you approach her. She looks up mid-laugh from a joke her friend -- Mizuki, you remember his name being called in class -- had just finished telling, and a big grin breaks out onto her face.

"Hey, Wilhelm!"

"You look weird." The twitch in her eyebrow should tell you that you're not being very tactful; it's not like you know any better. "Your hair. Why is it blue?"

"Dunno!" She glares at you and raises her hands to her hair defensively. "Why is your hair yellow?"

You shrug. "Just born with it."

"Well so was I!" She huffs. It's kind of cute.

"What's your name?"

"Aoba. This is Mizuki." She glances at her friend; he has darker skin, so he probably isn't native, either. You don't bring it up.

"Aoba?" You repeat. "That's a pretty name for a girl."

At this, Aoba squawks and Mizuki starts howling with laughter. "I'm not a girl!"

Oh.

"You're mean, Wilhelm. Go away." He pouts. The blush on his face only makes him cuter.

"I like your name, though." Your words make him glare at you, his blush deepening. "You can call me Wim."

"...Hmph."

You don't say anything else for the rest of the class, listening to Mizuki and Aoba talk and joke between lessons, wordlessly jotting down the notes the teacher writes on the board as you try to ignore their hushed whispers of side conversation. You feel a little left out; you want Aoba to whisper to you while the teacher's talking, too.

Your tummy hurts.

After class, Aoba is waiting on the curb to be picked up when you approach him. He notices your presence and raises an eyebrow.

"You've been staring at me all day. I noticed." Oh. "What is it?"

"I like you." Aoba jumps to his feet, face beet red and eyes wide as saucer plates at your rather nonchalant response. He opens his mouth but you beat him to the punch. "I wanna be your friend. Can I?"

Aoba clears his throat and looks away.

"S-Sure, okay. We're friends now."

Friend. Just like that?

 

* * *

 

As you go through your elementary years, you learn a lot about your friend, Aoba Seragaki:

He enrolled in school a couple years late, so he's actually older than you are. You can't help but call him _onii-san_ every now and then, which gets him flustered.

He's cute when he's flustered.

You don't feel as guilty for mistaking him for a girl when you first met; apparently just about everyone else assumes the same thing. It's that hair, that damned...gorgeous, flowing hair. Sure, the fact that it's blue is strange but as you grow with and get closer to him, you begin to appreciate its uniqueness and the way it reminds you of the river by your old neighborhood. It reminds you of home.

The home you never had but wish you did.

By the time you enroll in middle school, the two of you are inseparable. It's not uncommon for you to spend your evenings at his home with him and his grandma, or for him to spend his weekends crashing at your place, often staying up late playing video games -- you also learn his favorite is of the RPGMMO variety -- or watching scary movies (which he denies that he hates but you know he secretly does).

He tends to conk out around the same time, depending on his caffeine intake; there've been many nights where he's fallen asleep long before you do during your numerous sleepovers, typically while a movie is still playing. When he's awake, he's usually very lively; when he's asleep, however, his face is calm, serene, as though he's released the weight you sense he's carrying behind his grin.

You don't really dwell on it until your gaze lingers on his face just a second longer than usual, and it makes your chest ache.

You also learn that Aoba is too easily taken advantage of. By that, you mean he just can't say "no" to people.

You just happen to be passing by between classes to witness Aoba and a girl under a tree in the back -- how cliché -- and despite his obvious discomfort and hesitation, something in what little of the girl's tone you can pick up eats away at his objections and he claims to reciprocate the feeling.

You leave without hearing anything else, pissed off beyond reason, for _no_ reason.

You get your ears pierced to distract yourself.

The relationship between Aoba and that girl doesn't last, if Aoba's relief a week later is anything to go by. You breathe a secret sigh of relief of your own.

It's the third year of middle school that you stumble upon a similar scene, this time an underclassman -- a boy -- confessing. Aoba seems a little more comfortable accepting it, half-hearted as it still may be.

Ah. So he leans more toward boys.

You're still pissed off. You get another piercing -- your eyebrow.

How many is it now? Four?

 

* * *

 

By the second year of high school, your face and a couple other parts of your body are covered in metal, everyone calls you Noiz if they know what's good for them, you're known as the school punk and your best friend is known as the school slut.

Some of the rumors going around -- how he'll sleep with anyone with a penis, that he's sucked just about _every_ penis in the school, that he's seduced a few of the teachers, just to name a few -- piss you off (you notice you've been pissed off for quite some time now, always whenever it comes to Aoba). And Aoba will still flaunt around the school like he's the hottest shit, owning those rumors like the dicks he's supposedly ridden.

It's after school, in the safety of the bedroom in the apartment you acquired after starting high school, that he drops the act.

"I haven't slept with anyone," he murmurs, knees curled into his knees with his back against the wall as he sits beside your sprawled out form on the bed.

"I know." You've had this conversation before.

Today was a good day; he didn't cry after school.

Since...well, since sometime during the first trimester of your first year of high school, Aoba's had this reputation of being a total cock guzzler. Neither of you know quite how it started, but ever since they started he's been getting more people "confessing" in the obvious hopes of having their dicks sucked. You remember after the first couple of times, how Aoba had run over to your place in the middle of the night in tears to show you the messages some of these assholes were sending him.

You taught them a thing or two with your fists, but the damage had already been done.

Eventually it got to the point where Aoba basically -- literally -- said _fuck it_ and stopped denying the rumors; he mentioned something about how, "if they see you're not ashamed, they have no weapon against you, at least that's what _Baa-chan_ says."

Everyone has their own way with coping, you guess. You have yet to see it pay off. He's long lost those rainbows in his eyes.

"And that whole thing about the teachers? Don't they realize how much shit I can get into with that BS going around?"

His voice begins to waver.

"I know."

"They've even started writing shit on my locker, l-like, 'Free sperm dumpster!' 'Call for a good time, stupid winky face', fuck that!"

Here's where he usually starts losing his cool.

"'Hey, did you hear Seragaki got caught with a college guy in the equipment shed?' 'Maybe we should start calling him Sucks-On-Cocki!' 'What do his parents think of their son being such a _slut_?!'"

You look up to see him pulling on long tendrils of his hair, face flushed and eyes glossy as he fights a losing battle against tears. You sit up and scoot back so you're sitting flush against his side, an arm going around his shoulders to pull him in as those tears finally tear down his cracking walls.

The most important thing you've learned about Aoba, the thing you don't ever bring up to him, is that his parents all but threw him in the dumpster as a baby. His grandma isn't even related by blood; it was just chance she happened to find him while running errands. It always hits home, talking about them, and you've learned the hard way not to ever do it.

You have your own issues with your family, but they don't come even close to his. So you never bring it up.

He curls into your side and clings to your uniform sweater, letting out all of the anguish he's held in up until now since the last time. You don't say anything.

This, too, is how he copes.

No words, no assurances. Just quiet, leaving him to suffer in his own world and sort it all out.

Mizuki's been out of the picture for a long time now; he moved. You're all he has in these moments of weakness. And you don't mind it.

His fingers on your sweater tighten their grip, your hand drifting him his shoulder up to -- gently, tenderly -- tangle your fingers in his hair. You rest your cheek against the top of his head, his body shakes as he sobs pathetically into your side, your own heart breaking at seeing him like this.

You don't even realize your head adjusting to leave a light, reassuring peck on the top of his hair. It just seems...natural.

After a moment, his breathing calms significantly and he pulls away. A hand raises to wipe away any remaining tears and snot from his face onto his own sleeve, and he avoids looking at you.

"Sorry...that was uncool of me."

"I don't mind."

~~I hate seeing you hurt.~~

The next day, Aoba's expelled for beating the living shit out of two third-years.

~~~~

* * *

 

It's after you've graduated from high school. Aoba never went back to school; rather, he started working full-time and now he's your roommate.

And he's currently being fucked six ways to Sunday by some guy you don't know.

You've put on headphones to help block out the noise coming from behind his bedroom door. Half of you wants to blare the music until you go deaf so you can continue to be ignorant of the way he's moaning and the bed springs squeaking...and the other half wants to take them off completely and listen.

No, it's none of your damn business.

But with the way things are and the way things have been, there'll never be any other way to hear him. You've touched yourself to the thought of him touching you, but never to hearing him being touched by someone else.

You've realized quite some time ago the reasoning behind your unnecessarily quick temper when it comes to Aoba, the intense jealousy and the pain in your chest whenever you see him vanish into his room with some new guy, probably from a club, every time.

And every time, you wonder, "why not me?"

You're right in front of him. You've always been there.

...Despite your temptations, you decide to crank the music up.

It's none of your damn business.

 

* * *

 

You don't know when you dozed off. You don't know what time it is. All you know is that you need to _piss_.

Upon entering the bathroom, as if by fate, you lock eyes with your roommate -- your best friend, the man you're sure is the love of your life, this pitiful and complete wreck of a human being -- as he glances up at the door opening from being doubled over the toilet.

You both freeze, unsure of the proper way to respond to walking in and being walked in on a self-induced vomit session. His hair is hopelessly disheveled and his eyes are wide and slightly puffing from crying; you're sure you've heard him crying before, in the middle of the night sometimes, though you weren't certain until now.

Illuminated in the fluorescent light, you note the deep scratches on his arms. Those scratches aren't from sex, you know at least that much.

"Meet me out on the balcony when you're done. Take as much time as you need."

You leave to rummage in your bag for a pack of cigarettes (when did you even start this nasty habit?) and step out onto the balcony, leaving the screen door open for whenever Aoba decides to join you.

Fortunately, it's only a few moments later, after he's washed his face and brushed his teeth. The two of you lean against the railing in silence for what seems like an eternity, pausing that silence occasionally to take deep hits of a cigarette. You wait for him to talk.

"...Heh..." His weak chuckle brings your glance over to him. "I'm really fuckin' pathetic, aren't I?"

You say nothing. He goes on after a drag.

"Just a couple years ago, I was crying like a bitch over those dumbass rumors about what a slut I was...Stupid, really. It was all so fuckin' stupid. And here I am now, living up to my namesake. Heh. Heheheh." He laughs bitterly before taking another drag.

"I don't think you're a slut." You simply say before taking a drag of your own.

"Gee, thanks. I feel all better now."

"I mean it. I never did." Drag, exhale. "Not even once."

Aoba bites his lower lip, letting your words sink in. There's an air of awkwardness lingering. You put out the spent cigarette.

"How long have you been hurting yourself for?"

"...Since I started whoring myself out, I guess."

You sigh. "I already tol--"

"I know, I know." He nods once, then twice, before taking a final drag and putting out his own cigarette as he exhales.

"I don't know, Noiz..." He sighs. You perk up to listen intently. "I just feel...empty, I guess? I don't even know what the fuck I'm looking for, but I haven't found it yet and I feel so...so goddamn disgusting after every guy. Every one.

"I try to take hot -- I mean _really_ hot -- showers as soon as I can, sometimes I throw up before, sometimes after, who even knows. I scrub really, really hard, but I still feel shitty. It's like the filth somehow even got under my skin."

You can't help but glance at the fresh scratches on his arms. Your heart sinks into your stomach. He sighs, and you can't help but notice how it sounds heavier this time. "I don't know...I guess, like...I guess I'm just grasping at straws? Is that the phrase?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, my own parents didn't even fuckin' want me. Mizuki's gone off to some fuckin' tattoo apprenticeship or somethin', and I know baa-chan ain't too proud of me. Heh, you're really all I've got, and I'm sure even _you're_ sick of my bullshit by now." He looks over at you, a weak smile gracing his woefully neglected lips; you assume his man-of-the-week wasn't one of the more sensual types. It's a shame, really.

"Heh..." A single tear rolls down his cheek. "...I'm so fuckin' stupid..."

A hand automatically reaches up to cup his cheek against your palm, your thumb gingerly wiping the tear away. Aoba stiffens at the sudden tenderness and stares at you, confused.

"...Maybe I can help you find what you're looking for..." you murmur under your breath without thinking, realizing only a second too late to stop yourself. You try to take your hand away, but Aoba keeps it against his cheek.

"...You mean...?"

You sigh. There's no turning back now.

"I mean."

Fresh tears pool at the edges of Aoba's glossy eyes, pouring in tick droplets as he steps forward and crumbles into your arms. You hold him against your chest as tightly as you can, and he returns the gesture in kind, clawing at the back of your shirt desperately. You leave a kiss at the top of his head.

 

* * *

 

You both agree not to try anything -- tempting as it is -- for a few days, at least until Aoba was emotionally stable and more clear-minded. You want to make sure this is what he truly wants and not something he's grasping for in a moment of weakness.

You close the front door behind you, finally home from university, and it's upon stepping over the gekkan that your heart freezes for just the smallest fraction of a second as you realize that this is the day. And Aoba is waiting for you, standing there in the living room for when you would come back home. He's dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and boxers; you can't help but eye him up and down, taking in everything -- God, he's so beautiful.

A few long, slow strides and you're standing in front of him. His arms wrap around your neck as your hands find their place on his hips. He stares up into your eyes, a bit nervous. You press your forehead against his.

"Are you sure you want this?" You can't help but ask. You don't want to make Aoba do or feel obligated to do anything he doesn't want to. He nods once -- slowly -- and you nod in response.

Pulled in like a magnet, your heads tilt to your respective sides and your lips ghost over his. A wave of electricity shoots through your chest and down your spine, and suddenly your ribcage is too small and your clothes are too tight because holy shit, you'd been dreaming of that feeling for God even knows how long and here it is, finally, _finally_ happening and it's even better than every single one of those dreams combined.

You inhale a shaky breath and he shivers in your arms, and you lean in again. And again. And again.

Soon you have a slow, sweet synchronization in motion, and he sighs into your mouth and relaxes against your chest and goes with it. You can feel his heartbeat pounding through your clothes, and it matches almost perfectly with yours -- aflutter, warm, light.

His arms tighten their grip on your neck as he pushes into the kiss with more force, then slowly breaking away as the tip of his tongue ghosts over your upper lip. He takes a step back as he lets go and he takes one of your hands in his; he turns around to head for his room. He's only able to take two steps before you stop him.

"Not your room."

You don't want him to be thinking about any of those other men, the ways he was used and allowed himself to be used -- not now.

"...Oh..."

He nods once and changes course for your bedroom. You keep him to your side and lead the way, stepping backwards through the doorway to pull him in after you.

The door gets shut before you lead him to your bed, and the two of you sit along the edge to pick up where you left off.

You watch his eyelids flutter shut in the darkness as he melts into the kiss, and you follow suit once you're reassured he's enjoying it. You don't have a lot of experience with kissing, just going with the flow, but he's turning into putty so it must be okay.

A hand raises to hold one cheek of Aoba's face, thumb gently caressing his cheekbone -- just touching. He sighs into the kiss and shifts closer into your lap, and you're wrapped in his warmth and his scent; he smells of shampoo -- _your_ shampoo -- and holy _fuck_ , knowing he was actually looking forward to this turns you on like never before. Your other hand travels down his side to rest on his hip, and he shivers and gasps. He must not be used to gentle touches.

Aoba leans back and pulls you down with him onto the bed, pressing your torsos against each other as he wraps his legs around your waist. You can feel his half-erection through his boxers and your pants, and having it brush against yours is just sheer ecstasy.

"...Noiz..." he breathes against your lips. "How long...?"

You peck his forehead, then his cheek, then jaw, all while letting your fingertips brush up and down his sides. "So long, too, too long..."

While shifting, your erections move against each other and _oh_ fuck, you can't stop the breathy moan escaping your throat. Once composure has been regained, you stare down at him into his eyes.

"...I want to make you feel good, Aoba. Just tell me what it is you want."

He bites his lip and nods his head before you continue to kiss down his neck. Ah, his skin is so smooth and soft and creamy, like milk...

You're just barely able to make out some healing bruises left by other men along his neck and collarbone. A fire raises deep in your gut, and the urge to beat the shit out of them is strong...but not stronger than the urge to latch your teeth onto every last of those marks to leave your own.

He lets out soft gasps and mewls below you, and the way he lifts a hand to hold onto your shoulder tells you he's at least vaguely aware of what you're doing. You continue to cover up his shame with your adoration, right up until you reach the collar of his sweatshirt.

"May I?" You look up at him for approval. He nods.

Before too long, you're both bare, warm and pressed flush against each other. The marks speckled all over his body -- you found some on his chest, his sides, his hips and his thighs -- have all been made anew with your love. He's hard and you're hard, and every feather-light touch against his body makes you gasp, every touch against yours makes him whine.

You kiss him, slowly, for a moment before sitting up and reaching over him to the nightstand beside your bed. There's a small bottle of lubricant and a box of condoms -- he's mentioned he's allergic to latex so you opted for lambskin -- sitting atop the nightstand; you grab the lube and return to kissing him, once, before you trail those kisses down his torso, pausing to peck at his nipples and belly button along the way. You stop when you reach his thighs and crotch. He breathes heavily as he watches you, propping up onto one elbow.

"Noiz...what are you...--"

"Shh...just relax," you coo, kissing his hip bone, then his thigh; you notice upon closer look he has scars here, too, and you kiss every one of those scars as an apology for all of the shit he's dealt with in life. The light pecks travel back up to his hip, then to his navel, then finally down to his crotch.

Your tongue hits the head of his swollen dick before your lips engulf it, and the shuddering keen he makes is the sweetest noise you've ever heard. The tip of your tongue circling the slit draws more out from him -- he's salty, but there's a mixture of sweetness coming from his natural scent -- but the loudest he gets is when your tongue presses flat against it and the piercing you got some time after the rumors started focuses sweet pressure into the one spot just below the head; his hips jolt and his back arches as he whines in pleasure.

"Hah...!"

Those sounds go right to your groin and you're encouraged to take more of him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head up and down as one hand moves to hold onto his hip; he's started bucking in time to your sucks, and holy shit is it hot. You have to keep yourself in check, though.

This is about him.

"Noiz...! It- hah...!" He gasps and the two of you lock eyes; the flush painting his face is so, so cute.

You try to soften your own gaze, a way to tell him that it's alright to feel good, you _want_ him to feel good. With his dick still in your mouth, him still moaning above you, you open the cap to the lube to lather up your fingers; over the last few days, you've done some extensive research on how to have sex with another man in ways to make it feel best, to stretch him out while sucking him off.

Your middle finger manages to make it past that ring of muscles...a bit too easily.

He gasps as you slowly pump it in, then out, before adding another finger only to meet the same response. You pull away from his erection to look up at him for answers.

"I..." He clears his throat and looks away, and the blush makes his face practically beam like a beacon in the darkness. "I already, y'know...prepared myself before you got home so...so you should be good."

"Ah."

Your own neglected cock twitches; he really was looking forward to this.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway.

A couple more sucks of his dick and just two more pumps with your fingers later and you pull away, reaching over to grab a condom to tear it open and roll it down your erection. Your hands fumble a little, though, since you've never really done this before. Aoba seems to pick up on that.

"Here, let me help," he mumbles as he sits up, a bit eagerly.

"Nah, I got it. Just, give me a minute." A hand reaches over to cover yours and you gasp at the contact.

"Please, Noiz..."

You can't stop him as he inches forward, with your dick in hand, and engulfs the tip of the condom wrapped around your head to push it back. You gasp at the wet heat, holy fuck, it feels amazing. _Aoba's_ amazing.

Your breath hitches at the sight of your wrapped dick disappearing and reappearing from Aoba's mouth; he's not even fazed by the metal on your dick, and somewhere in the back of your mind you remember first getting them and bitching to him about how it itched (secretly you laugh at the memory). His eyes are closed and face flushed, just taking his time to take you all in, sucking gently and you can feel him running his tongue up and down your piercings.

He seems...peaceful.

And it breaks your heart.

"Aoba..." You bring a hand up to gently rest atop his head. He hums in response, shivers quake through your skin. He opens his eyes to meet yours. "...please tell me if you want to stop."

He hums again and your toes curl.

After a moment, he pulls back to lay back onto the bed, legs spread and arms open to wrap around you as you lean down to press your chests together. You both shiver at the contact, drowning the soft sighs in sweet kisses. You lube up the condom around your penis, just to be safe, before aligning your hips. Your head grazes the underside of his own erection and you both shudder; another attempt to line up has it poking at his softened hole.

Gently, slowly, you ease in.

Your focus is on his face, watching his expressions for any sign of discomfort. Relief watches over you when you don't see any, only vague pleasure. Knowing he's not in any pain, you finally register just how soft, how hot and _inviting_ he is. And you can't help but let out a choked groan. Eventually, you're all the way in to the hilt. Aoba gazes up at you, at your face, biting his lower lip as he rolls his hips up against yours.

"H-Hah...!" You gasp out and your arms shake under your weight. As if it were a natural reaction, your hips move on their own to meet his rhythm. It's slow. Sweet. You're not sure you should be moving so soon but oh _God_ , it feels so good you can't stop.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, and you catch the way his fingers grip the sheets below him just as he arches his back to take more of you in at a quickened pace. You freeze, his hips still moving against yours, fucking himself against you.

You realize he just wants it to be over with.

"Ah...Noiz, move... _please_..." He opens one eye to plead up at you. You want to -- God, you want to so bad -- but you can't. You sit up a bit, bringing your hands to his hips to keep him still.

"I think we should stop," you manage to squeeze out. This is the exact scene you'd fantasized about: Aoba, naked and beneath you in your bed, face flushed and hair splayed out across your pillow, practically begging for you. Everything's perfect.

Except he doesn't want this. Not really.

"H-Huh...?" He opens the other eye and shoots you a confused look.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for can be found in sex." It hurts to admit this, with the two of you finally where you want to be; but his happiness comes first. This isn't right. "I...don't want to do this. Not unless you really want it. I'm sorry."

You carefully pull out and watch his expressions. His eyes widen as you breathe out your soft confession. "I love you too much to take advantage of you."

Tears come out of nowhere to stream down his face and his body trembles below yours. Before you can even realize it, he's shooting upright and burying his face into your chest, arms wrapped tight around you. His lithe frame shakes against you, and your arms wrap around him in return to keep him steady.

He ends up sleeping in your bed, curled into your side. Your fingers idly run through his hair. If it weren't for him falling asleep due to exhaustion from crying, this, too, would have been perfect.

It would have been perfect.

 

* * *

 

It's taken a while, but he's gotten better. The men don't come around anymore, Aoba hasn't forced himself to throw up in about a month now, and he's even talked about going back to school. It's like he's a completely different person.

It's unclear just what you two are just yet. You kiss him goodbye when he's curled up in bed (lately he's been spending more nights in your room than he has in his) and still sleeping, and he's there in the kitchen to greet you when you come home.

You're not entirely sure when he started kissing you back. But it's sweet, and it's genuine. Every time.

Sometimes, especially during nights he's particularly needy for affirmation, you'll be on your bed, he'll sit in your lap with his arms around your neck, and you kiss, and it's wet and a little sloppy and desperate but he really wants this, wants to feel you holding him, kissing him.

Sometimes during these nights, things will escalate and you almost end up naked and tangled into each other.

Tonight, that's exactly where you are: naked, arms and legs wrapped around the other's body as he sits bare in your lap, your hardened dicks grinding against each other, wet from your combined pre-cum and _fuuuuuuck_ , it feels so good.

"Noiz," He pants against your ear before nipping at the lobe. "I want you."

His hands move to cup your face, bringing your focus to him as he stares into your eyes. "And I mean it."

You can't even speak, only engulf his lips in a heated kiss as you scramble for the lube and condoms blindly. Everything is a blur: stretching him out, grinding feverishly against him, nipping at his neck as you whisper that you want him too, you've wanted him for so long and hearing him say it is like a dream; it almost makes you want to cry.

Before you even realize it, he's pinned beneath you, writhing against your hips as they bury your dick into his ass again and again and again, and he's keening and gasping and dragging his nails down your spine, _fuck that's hot_.

"Noiz...! Ah, hah...! Nngh...Noiz..." He breathes against your neck, eyes closed tight and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

"My name..." You pant in response, tightening your hold on it; you bury your face into the hair spread out wildly onto the sheets. "Say my name, my real one...you're the only one allowed to..."

His breath hitches. You hate your birth name.

"...Wim..."

Except when he says it.

"Wim...Wim...!" His voice rises in pitch as you pick up the pace, spurred on by his pleading. "Right there- ah! Please, _right there_!! Wim!!"

You drive into that spot over and over until he's a crying, writhing mess. The moans and whines and gasps, the way he clenches around you, his legs tightening as he bites into your shoulder, you take it all in and shudder in pure ecstasy.

You don't realize you're calling out his name until he looks at you, tears in his eyes and a broken, goofy grin cracking his lips open. You take notice in the way his eyes shine in the dim lighting. You can see the rainbows in the hazel.

He catches his breath and pulls you down for a kiss. You almost miss the hushed croak of his voice as he spoke just before capturing your lips.

~~I love you.~~

 

* * *

 

You're lying in the sweet after-glow of your passionate love-making, Aoba curled up into your side with your fingers idly playing with his hair and his arm across your torso, breaths still fighting to be slowed down and caught, sweat and cum drying on your skin. You don't mind.

"Mm...that was great." Aoba's voice breaks through the silence hanging between them. You look over to see him grinning up at you; you've never seen him smile so brightly before. His foot playfully nudges against yours. "I'm glad you got those piercings."

"Yeah? They were a pain in the ass to put in."

"Well they felt fuckin' awesome so I'd say it was worth it." Your chest swells with pride at hearing him say you did him good and before you know it, you're grinning with him.

"Wi--"

"Aoba, do you wanna go out with me?" You don't mean to cut him off, but now it's out in the open. His eyes widen as he stares up at you, before switching to a pout.

"...Brat, you beat me to it."

_Buh-bump._

Just that response is enough to make you roll over on top of him to smother him in kisses and chaste touches. He laughs as he struggles with the sudden weight, and it's so wonderful hearing that laugh after so many years.

"So I can take that as a 'yes'?" You nuzzle into his neck below his chin, tightening your hold on him.

"You can take it as a ' _hell_ yes', buddy," he chuckles, flicking your forehead.

After a moment, the energy in the room dies down as he leans up to peck the tip of your nose. "...Thank you."

"Hm? What for?"

"For being my friend, for not giving up on me," he pauses to leave another peck on your chin. "For reminding me I mean something, at least to someone...that's all I wanted..."

Oh. It all makes sense now.

"So...thank you."

"...No thanks needed...Aoba." You lean forward to kiss him, melting into the sensation of his lips moving with yours as his arms wrap around you, pulling you in to press you flush together.

This is perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

 

* * *

 

.

* * *

 

 

It doesn't last.

After about a month of being domestic, of sleeping together and sharing hot sighs and whispers of adoration, it ends, and your world comes crashing down.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He drops the bomb one night when you're about to drag him into your room to remind him how loved he is. Everything was going absolutely perfectly up until now. What changed?

You wrack your mind for answers, but you can't find any.

"Can we...just pretend this never happened...?"

"...Why...?" You don't feel the tears rolling down your face. What did you do wrong? "Did I do something?"

"N-No, it's not you! It was never you, Wim, you've been wonderful, absolutely perfect."

Perfect.

"...And that's just it. I don't deserve it."

That just doesn't make sense.

He raises a hand to cup your face and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping the tears away.

"It's just for now...I just...need to figure some things out, okay...?"

What else _is_ there to figure out?

"I want to be with you, all of you. But I don't think I deserve it, not now. I want to feel like I do Wilhelm...please."

You give up.

Sigh.

"...Okay..."

"Thank you...just, please wait for me, Wim. Please."

Wait for me.

You still have a chance at happiness. And it dawns on you that whatever it is that Aoba needs to sort out, whatever answers he's looking for, they're not something you can do; he has to find it himself.

But you'll be there when he does.

"Always."

He comes to a compromise, knowing how unfair it is of him to drop this bomb, and pushes you back into your room where you share one final...bittersweet, wonderful, painful embrace.

You never want to let go, never want it to end.

You engrain the image of Aoba in your lap, riding you and taking you in with ease and desperation, into your mind. You take in the delicious heat, his pleased moans, the way your name sounds dripping from his plump lips as he tries to forget, just for tonight; the rush of blood-flow to your brain, the way his skin feels -- so soft, so supple -- beneath your fingertips, how your bodies fit together like they were made for each other and the way your hot breaths mingle together...

...the fading rainbows in his hazel eyes as he gazes into your own green, longingly...

...you commit it all to memory.

It's not the last time, you tell yourself. But it may very well be.

So you indulge, and shift positions so he's beneath you, just the same as the first time you truly became one, and you convey everything you want to say to him, to show him how you feel.

~~I love you.~~

~~I need you.~~

~~I'm right here.~~

 

* * *

 

You awake the next morning to an empty bed and most of your heart ripped from your chest.

I have to get used to this, you tell yourself before stumbling out of bed to retrieve your pants. You're heavy, disoriented. It doesn't feel like you're in the right skin.

You lock eyes with a stranger -- long, oddly blue hair and big, bright eyes that once reflected rainbows somewhere within the hazel -- curled up into the couch in the living room with a piece of toast in hand and an unfamiliar bottle of pills on the table in front of him.

"Good morning."

You swallow the lump in your throat. It's day one.

"Good morning."

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to hoping for a safe and speedy recovery.


End file.
